


Desecrating our Sanctuaries

by Madame Guillotine (morbidromantic)



Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6889504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidromantic/pseuds/Madame%20Guillotine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius is stuck between the past and present, finding that his present may be, in some instances, no different than his long, seemingly forgotten past.  Yet much of his past is destined to repeat itself.  And when the ghost of Akasha returns, Marius must confront his feelings of betrayal, loyalty, love, and passion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desecrating our Sanctuaries

May, 2016

The girl’s face was feverish against Marius’s skin, flushed with drink and from vigorous, bacchanal dancing. She embodied a lack of restraint that he had never known in his life. This girl, no more than 24, was part of a modern breed of narcissistic and almost nihilistic youths who would destroy themselves in pursuit of lonely pleasures, convinced that their rebellions somehow made them unique bohemians in a world made pointless because it simply did not understand them. Because they believed merely to live was to be art, though Marius thought their generational meaning was quite the opposite.

Sequins from her moderately priced, but not at all modestly revealing, dress flashed in the spiraling light, and his fingers played across the colors of their rainbow refractions like they would along a delicate instrument. Her body responded by drawing itself closer and pressing against his side. A slim, bare leg even attempted to slide over his own, but it immediately slipped, her coordination and grace utterly gone thanks to inebriation. Marius was faintly charmed by her clumsy desire.

Her cheek found his and her breath was a delicious ghost against the shell of his ear, coiling hotly into the hollow when she whispered drunkenly, “You’re skin is so cool,” her voice sounded relieved and pleasured, “it feels so good.” Like a cat she caressed his cheek with hers, his smooth and hers sticky with sweat. And so it must--- a relief like a splash of cold water on a sun-stained face or a hot cheek pressed against cold marble. She seemed not to think it strange, but then again she was terribly drunk and very incapable of the reason necessary to realize that something just was not quite right. 

In a flash, her body moved away from his casual embrace and she blindly reached for her drink. False eyelashes, adorned with encrusted glitter, glistened as she turned away. Marius thought she was very beautiful, even given her uncoordinated, careless condition. She had dark, exotic skin, natural and not the result of time spent in the sun. Her eyes were brown, but a light shade as if mixed with something else—more a cafe au lait than a standard brown. Dark brown hair spilled about her small shoulders in bouncing waves. The hair had been what had caught his attention. Now tendrils of it plastered to her forehead and neck with sweat, and something about that was so palpable by sight alone that Marius felt the first wave of real hunger.

But no, he scolded himself. He could not give in to the first flicker of want and deny himself the pleasure of possibility. It was too deliciously interesting to imagine what could unfold—an infinity of possibilities, each one as sweet as the other as they would all result in the same end and the same satisfaction.

After a second of the tips of her fingers fumbling against the slick condensation of her mixed drink, she grasped the small glass and brought it to lips colored with a lovely shade of antique fuchsia. As she sipped daintily from the brim, her eyes stared into his own, part of her often successful and therefore frequently used seduction ritual. Surely, if she could draw his attention to her mouth than he would want to kiss her, which she desperately wanted him to do. 

He had come out of nowhere… figuratively… at the bar after she left the dance floor to order something for her dry throat. At first, she didn’t know what to make of him but she was not surprised that a man approached her. It was just a matter of time, really, before one did, and she was only grateful one did before her vision became too blurry to know who to turn down and who not.

Instantly, she was taken by his appearance. Handsome men? Attractive men? Rugged men? These were so common and swarmed the room like proverbial ants. But a beautiful man? Those were far more rare. His age was hard to discern, though she guessed he could be no older than his mid-thirties. He had no lines or shadows on his face to signal middle age. Club lighting could be cruel to the face, yet his was flawless. But the timelessness of his face was in stark contrast to the ice blue eyes that moved over her. Sometimes when a man looked her over, it felt predatory and wrong, but she liked this man’s gaze. There was a sober maturity in his eyes that made her feel safe, especially when they locked on to hers and he gave her a smile that sent a shamefully orgasmic thrill through her whole body. 

Yet his eyes, as beautiful and seductive as they were, made him seem so much older than his face. So vexing was the effect that she suddenly wanted to ask why and had to abruptly stop her mouth because even she was not too drunk not to know that would be weird. And lips? So softly pink and she thought of rosewater, and then she could smell it and the strange man smiled as if he knew something she did not. A secret. Another thrill through her body, and this one caught her throat. And she loved his hair, a blonde so blonde it was white and cast a halo around his head. 

So white. Like his skin. When she was a child, her parents had gone to Aspen at least once every three years, and they always brought her along even when that meant missing a few days of school. It was there that she had experienced endless expanses of untouched, pure snow, the color silent like the air that hovered about it. These were the images that flashed in her mind when she looked at him. Calm, endless white under the moonlight, so deeply nestled in an intimate corner of the world that not even an animal or insect dared intrude upon it.

All of this before he spoke a word. By then, she was his already.

He told her his name: Marius. She gave him her own in return. Abigail, she introduced, but her friends called her Abby. “Alright, Abby,” he consented to the familiarity. She could have sworn that he whispered and yet she heard him perfectly over the thumping bass that drowned out any other hints of music or vocals that might have accompanied it. This man, Marius, had a deep and melodic voice and she loved how it sounded murmuring her name. After that, it was inevitable that she found herself nestled in a corner of the club, far from the chaos of the bar, and with him.

It was his reticence that she was so currently drawn to, Marius knew, but it was no pretense. For her, he was a challenge, and each small victory of finger or lip was to be relished for the present as much for later recounting to her friends over lunch or text. Yes, she wanted to smash through his self-control, and imagined that she could if she played coy and sexy enough. If he wasn’t attracted to her, he would not be here, she reasoned. When she moved back against his body, he moved a bit toward her. This was the receptivity that she sought.

Marius accepted a sudden sloppy kiss. Her mouth tasted like a cocktail of a half dozen fruity mixed drinks, each one made up of their own different assortments of various alcohols. The kiss lasted a few seconds before Marius gently guided her away from him, and she did not seem disappointed. Rather, she seemed pleased at her small conquest. “I want you to come home with me.” She was a bold one. But it was not the same desire Marius shared, and so he gave another enigmatic smiles and leaned back into her. At last, he put his hand under her chin and began a chain of half formed kisses against her throat until his lips reached the warm, salty crux of her neck. How the thick vein pumped beneath her flesh.

Pleasure, not pain. That was the vision Marius gave over to this willing participant, this Abby, his tender love for the night. She would be never forgotten, but never seen again. Her moan was one of pure pleasure, a plead for more. She seemed unaware that his teeth suddenly pierced her because he had already embedded in her inebriated mind not to feel such things, and to feel nothing but the waves of ecstasy that flowed from her into him with each gush of alcohol infused, youthful blood. This is what Marius had waited for all night and now he had it. At last. His hunger reeled, begging for more than just a mere taste. It wanted to drain every drop of her blood until she collapsed in a heap.

But no, base instincts belonged to beasts and Marius was a civilized man. He drank enough just to feel warm. And already, he felt his powers returning. Starvation made him weak—granted even at his weakest he was still of formidable power and difficult to defeast except by the equally powerful or more powerful. It felt good, however, to feel the swell of his preternatural powers vibrating though his body. Abby moaned against her, and he felt her getting weak from the loss of blood and the pleasure. He moaned too, and had to be gentle lest he hurt her with his hard grip and body. Best not to crush her fragile and lovely bones accidentally. She was a tiny bird, helpless in his hands.

This had to be enough. He released her, healed the two deep puncture marks to leave no trace of his intrusion, and kissed her on the lips after licking away any trace of her blood. Abby’s eyes were glazed and her breath came out in pants as she gazed at him. 

“Forget me,” it wasn’t a statement or demand, but a trick of the mind. As soon as he walked away, he would become a ghost and she would not remember his face or anything of their passionate interaction. Abby nodded faintly and closed her eyes. As she took deep breaths to compose herself, the memories were already fading, vanishing into nothing more than what she would consider a strange fantasy if any of it resurfaced at all. By that time, Marius was already making his way out of the door, out of the steamy night into the far more refreshing air. He took it in in deep gulps, grateful for the purge, the purity of crisp, cold air.

Pausing beneath a streetlight, Marius gazed about him in both directions. It was a lonely night. With his hands in his pockets, he chose the mortal way of travel: simply walking home.


End file.
